


Battesimo Del Fuoco

by waywardCryptid



Series: Battesimostuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Ancestors, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dream Bubbles, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Rebellion, Space Opera, Violence, quadrant flipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardCryptid/pseuds/waywardCryptid
Summary: The followers of the Cult called them the Resurrected, the Lover, the Devotee, and the Nurturer.The Empire called them the Heretic, the Fool, the Zealot, and the Apostate.Karkat Vantas called them his best friends-- but not to their faces, of course.It was the Second Coming. It was the idiot's cause. It was a pain in the ass.The flame is gone, the fire remains.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora & Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Terezi Pyrope, Nepeta Leijon/Equius Zahhak, Sollux Captor/Feferi Peixes, Sollux Captor/Karkat Vantas, Sollux Captor/Nepeta Leijon/Karkat Vantas, Tavros Nitram/Vriska Serket, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket
Series: Battesimostuck [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702765
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	1. ACT ONE, CHAPTER ONE

_"Something about the world today, make a boy feel a bit insane."_

**\-- ACT ONE --**

**\-- THE AWAKENING--**

You’ve been stuck with Sollux Captor for two, very long sweeps. But, much to your surprise, you can accomplish a lot in two sweeps— even with a bean pole shaped pain in your ass. In fact, you’re pretty sure this is the most you’ve ever done in your whole thirteen sweeps of life.

Your name is **KARKAT VANTAS** and you are a **NEWLY APPOINTED CULT LEADER.**

Reluctantly. 

All you wanted to do was stick it out past the enlistment. You would hide in Dad’s nice little cubbyhole he made just for you and wait it out, then peacefully return to your otherwise normal life. Maybe watch a movie, maybe code something halfway decent for once, maybe win a fight against your dad. 

But no, your ancestor’s cultists just _had_ to find you first.

You got your first message on Trollian from a follower when you turned eight, and the rest came spilling in not too long after. Eventually, word got around and there were so many that you couldn’t respond to everyone individually. Thanks to your massive coding brain, you whipped up a forum board to house your new found fame. This became the hub for what everyone started calling the Second Cycle. You started calling it your worst mistake to date.

Everything was cool until you got arrested a couple times, wound up on a prison ship, and essentially was adopted by the Heiress and her pet matesprit.

But this is your life now. Here’s how it goes:

“ _You have arrived._ ” The monotone signal from Sollux’s GPS snaps you out of the drift your mind has been for the past three hours. You blink the dryness from your oculars.

He has a scuttlebuggy registered under an alias, which saves you from walking everywhere, thank the Gods. When you finish corrupting all the young minds in the area via your memos, Feferi sends you coordinates to the next safest location.

Your memos are crafted with care and read like modern Troll Shakespeare. That combined with the impressionable youth scattered all over Alternia is a recipe for an army of child cultists.

This time, you find yourself in a more rundown village. The hive roofs are painted sloppily in greens and bronzes. This is comforting; these colors tend to be a bit friendlier to strangers than anyone else. Those of deeper reds are always suspicious as hell right off the bat, while teals and up are a whole other realm of disaster.

Sollux pulls into the empty parking lot of a small diner. “You hungry?” He asks, as if at all necessary. You climb out of the car and stretch your aching limbs, a couple tense joints giving a loud crack. 

Sunrise is just around the corner, but the glowing sign sitting in the window proudly announces twenty-four hour service. Sollux swings the glass door open, looks up at the sky and notes, “gotta find a place to crash soon.”

Aside from a troll wearing an apron and a brown button up shirt behind the counter, there is no one else inside. Your anxieties allow your shoulders to relax. Greens are friendly, but sometimes a bit too friendly. Bronzebloods have a certain hospitality that’s a perfect happy medium. Chilled out enough to leave you the fuck alone when it’s obvious you, in fact, want to be left the fuck alone. 

Feferi reassured you when you first landed that Alternia was filled with sympathizers and budding revolutionists, and though she’s not wrong per say, you didn’t survive thirteen sweeps of life buddying up with everyone you met.

“Welcome in, boys,” the troll behind the counter greets. She’s got a rope of thin hair tied tight behind her head, straight horns, and a big smile with wide teeth. “Can I get anything started for you?”

“Any kind of bitter bean fluid you have and something filling,” Sollux replies and slides into an emerald green booth. He pulls his palmhusk out and mumbles, “gotta let FF know we made it…”

You turn your attention to a small television planted on the counter. The picture is shit, but you can faintly make out the broadcasterror relaying the story of a riot breaking out in neighboring stemcluster. The camera pans over to show footage of a handful of trolls tearing each other apart. Troll cops with the lights on their cars going crazy bludgeon them with nightstickkinds and drag them off screen. There’s a fuzzy fire in the background.

It creates a lump in your throat. You look away, tuning in on anything else. You’re used to violence. Violence and hysteria have always been a huge part of your dumpster fire life— but that also means every time you catch the tail end of a radio host talking about a mass public execution, you can’t help but think _was that because of me?_

The woman comes over to your table and places cups down, pours strong smelling liquid into each, and sets down a basket of baked wheat rolls in the middle. “This should fill you right up,” she says with a wink. “Anything else you need, hun?”

“Know any places to stay?” Sollux asks. He nurses his cup in both hands, thumbs rubbing along the sides.

“Might be an extra room down that way if you’re lucky,” she says and flicks an open palmed hand towards ‘down that way.’ “What’s your story? It’s not too often you get two boys comin’ in and asking for a pick-me-up so early in the morning.”

You take a big bite out of a roll. “One real fucking long roadtrip,” you grumble.

“Thanks,” Sollux says before she can ask any more questions. “We’re good now, thanks.”

She nods unbothered, smiles again, retreats back behind her counter.

Sollux sips his coffee. You devour five of the rolls in record time. This is the first time you’ve eaten in most likely two nights. Sollux drinks your coffee for you. You don’t need the caffeine anyway.

You found the ‘down that way’ inn. It’s a barnhive turned into a communal nutrient and respiteblock, and the room you settle into for the morning is definitely nothing to write to your lusus about. There’s only one recuperacoon but neither of you have the energy to fuck with the sopor temperature until it’s comfortable. You opt to lay on the couch while Sollux plants himself at the small table.

To pass the time, you decide to write a quick memo on basic riot etiquette, the main message being: don’t.

Sleep is tugging at your eyelids when Sollux does what Sollux does best: drops some bullshit news on you.

“We’ve been flagged,” he says too close to casually, as if you’re having a nice chat over some grubloaf. He’s typing furiously.

“Didn’t we _just_ get here? There’s no way it’s anything serious. The only troll we’ve come into contact with is a fucking waitress. So we shut up for a night or two before getting back to business.” You roll over on your side, shutting your eyes tight. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up unless the block is on fire. And even then, take a minute to really think it over.”

“No, dipshit,” Sollux says, “Alternia as a _whole_ just got flagged.”

Oh. Well, fuck. You sit up and rub your aching oculars with your palms. “How the everloving fuck did that manage to happen?”

Sollux shrugs. “Probably got tipped off by some Witch worshipping asshole.”

You give him the best, hardest glare you can muster. “Am I supposed to be flipping the fuck out about this? Because you’re giving me some pretty fucking flippable information right now, but your delivery is like your giving me the goddamn weather report.”

“You tell me. Worst case scenario, this could mean that our whole cover is blown, we just endangered a whole bunch of people in about thirteen stemclusters and forty-seven minor villages, and there’s a lawbug out there whistling a tune while they decide what color rope will compliment your eyes the best.” Sollux sighs. “You tell me.”

“So what the fuck do we do now?” You rise to your feet. “This is fucking huge. Are we the only ones who know about this? Does Kanaya know? Does _Feferi_ know?”

“Haven’t heard from KN. FF is the one who told me.”

You feel a migraine coming on. Palms hit eyes again. You press down so hard you see specks. “So we have a mole somewhere.”

Sollux nods.

“They could be leading them to us right now.”

Nod, nod.

“And we could be expecting the slaughter of a billion kids by tomorrow night?”

Sollux’s brow lowers. “Are you planning to paraphrase everything I just told you? You’re aware I was here for all that too, right?”

It takes a lot of effort not to clobber him. “I’m sorry,” you sneer, “just trying to make sure I understand how absolutely _fucked_ we are! Maybe if I keep it up, we might come up with an actual solution!”

His headset bleeps. “It’s her.” He presses a button on the keyboard and leans back in his chair. “Talk to me, honeybee.”

_Groan._

He makes a couple _yeah, uhuh_ sounds before turning the screen of the husktop towards you. “You’re on speaker,” he says.

Feferi hasn’t changed much from the last time you saw her. She’s still a mix of seadwellingly terrifying and royally groomed; a wave of curly hair floats around her face, her flap is pulled into a smile of sharp teeth, and her fins flutter when she sees you. The only real difference is her horns have grown in height and are draped in gold chains. Her voice is laced in that unmistakable seadweller accent, made even thicker by the fact that she is currently underwater. “Oh gosh, Karcrab! How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just perfect,” you say, “doing fine as all shit. I’m at max capacity for doing great. How are you, Feferi? Catch up on the _Bachelorterror_ yet?”

Sollux stops her before she gets the chance to reply to either your sarcasm or whether she’s seen the new episode. “You said you had some good news, FF?”

Her hands clap together and send little bubbles flying in all directions. “Oh, yes! I managed to sneak into the briefing meeting aboat our little situa-fin. They’re reely only looking for you two.”

“Lovely. Problem solved. Do we have a scheduled meeting with the flagship or should we make the plans ourselves?” You cross your arms. Sometimes, Feferi is the only one who thinks she’s helping.

“Ignore him please,” Sollux hisses and sends narrowed eyes your way.

“Oh, don’t worry! No one’s in any danger. I have someone who can ship you buoys offplanet until the tide settles,” she chirps and shifts her attention somewhere off screen, eyes flickering about.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this ‘someone?’” Sollux presses.

Feferi lets out a little giggle. “You’re fishy aboat everyone! She’s an ally, and she’s very good at flying ships and stuff.”

You rest your head in your hand, a million worries already starting to spill into your pan. “So we’re putting our fates into the hands of what, a space pirate?”

“Exactly!” Feferi smiles. “I’ll send you her details.”

“Did you find out _why_ we got flagged, FF?”

You add, “by all means, Fef, don’t be afraid to name-drop. I haven’t had a chance to polish my specibus in a while.”

“It wasn’t shell-icious to my under-sand-ing,” Feferi replies amongst her typing, “from what I heard, it’s an artist.”

Sollux quirks an eyebrow. “An artist?”

“One of those artists who go around and sp-ray paint a bunch of buildings,” she explains, “they’ve been doing it for a whale now.”

“Amazing,” you huff, “fucking Troll Picasso Junior is going to get this planet blown to bits.”

The husktop sounds off with a _ping_.

“Just sent you all the reelevant infoamation! I’d get going as soon as possible.” Feferi’s watery gaze shifts over to Sollux. “I have to go, but I’ll be doing my part from over here. Be safe?”

“Always, FF.” Sollux gives her a halfhearted smile. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Her fins flutter. “Aye, aye! Flushed for you.”

“Oh, gee, Feferi. Not in front of Sollux,” you snicker.

Sollux snaps his fingers in your direction, a spark of blue nipping your nose.

* * *

You begin the drive at dusk. Well, Sollux begins the drive. There are no arguments over who takes the wheel; you never took a scuttlebuggy license test for obvious reasons and have already exhibit signs of furious road rage from the passenger side.

You lay in the back, legs splayed out to get as comfortable as you can manage. Sollux is multitasking; he holds his palmhusk in one hand and the wheel in the other, typing out long messages.

About an hour after staring into Alternia’s barren landscape, you get a message from Feferi.

\-- cuttlefishCuller [CC]  began trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG] ! --

CC: I’m )(aving my frond message you ASAP!  
CC: )(er )(andle is arac)(nidsGrip.  
CC: Wit)(out t)(e quirk of course )(-E)(-E!!!  
CG: SO IS SHE JUST SOMEONE YOU KNOW OR IS SHE A FROND?  
CG: FRIEND. IS SHE A FRIEND.  
CC: )(e)(e)(e)(e)(e)(-----E!!!!  
CC: S)(e’s a frond 38)  
CC: And wave nicer t)(an s)(e likes to admit, so don’t let )(er fool you!  
CG: OH I’M SURE I’LL SEE RIGHT THROUGH HER BULLSHIT, DON’T WORRY.  
CC: T)(at’s t)(e spirit!  
CC: Gotta go now, )(ave a nice trip!  


\-- cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG] ! --

And then a couple minutes later:

\-- arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG] ! --

AG: Helloooooooo!!!!!!!  
AG: Karkat Vantas I presume?  
CG: THE ONE AND ONLY.  
AG: Excellent!  
AG: Captain Vriska Serket at your service! ::::)  
AG: What’s the estim8ed time of arrival?  
CG: LET ME JUST CONSULT MY CO PILOT.   


You give Sollux’s seat a sharp kick. “When are we getting there?”

“We have two stemclusters to pass through on our way to her headquarters. It’s kind of tucked away inside the second one.” He uses his psionics to hover a map into your lap. “GPS says forty-eight hours. Why do you care to know all of a sudden?”

“Feferi’s friend is asking. Someone named Serket.”

Sollux stops a little too hard at a stoplight, sending you rolling forward. “Gods, FF. She’s the best you could come up with?” He hisses under his breath.

“You know her?”

“We’re acquainted, yeah.”

CG: MY CO PILOT ESTIMATES TWO NIGHTS.  
CG: HE HAS ALSO GIVEN ME THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU HAVE A HISTORY.  
CG: AND IF YOU WERE WONDERING, THE IMPRESSION IS A PRETTY SHITTY ONE.  
AG: Hahahahahahahaha yeah Sollux is like that, huh?  
AG: 8etween you and me I don’t see how Feferi can handle that level of douche8aggedness.  
AG: I’m surprised you lasted this long.  
CG: AND HOW DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER.  
CG: *HOW LONG WE’VE BEEN WORKING TOGETHER.  
AG: Everyone in the Heiress’s 8attalion knows a8out you guys.  
AG: Did you forget you’re like, really important?  
CG: FUCK NO  
CG: HOW COULD I FORGET THAT?  
CG: THERE IS NOT A SOUL IN MY LIFE THAT ALLOWS ME TO FORGET THAT I AM THE SHIT.  
AG: Gr8! 8ut once you get to my ship, I’m the one who runs things. Got that?  
CG: THE ONLY TIMES I’VE BEEN AROUND SHIPS ARE THE ONES WHERE I WAS A PRISONER ON THEM. I DON’T THINK I EVEN KNOW WHAT A CONTROL PANEL LOOKS LIKE.  
AG: Yeah well, some people like to think they know eeeeeeeeverything once they step on 8oard.  
AG: And I might 8e talking a8out Sollux, I might not 8e.  
CG: BLAH BLAH BLAH WHATEVER. I’LL KEEP HIM AWAY FROM YOUR SHIT.  
CG: WHAT SHOULD WE BE EXPECTING ONCE WE GET TO YOU? I’M NOT JUST GOING TO WALTZ ONTO SOME RANDOM TROLL’S SHIP JUST BECAUSE A PRINCESS TOLD ME SHE’S NOT THAT BAD SOMETIMES.  
AG: Refuge!  
AG: Feferi told me to get you from point A to point 8 and then 8ack to point A. Easy mode.  
CG: POINT 8???? WHAT HAPPENED TO POINTS 1-7?????  
AG: Point 8! Letter after A!!!!!!!!  
AG: Your lusus teach you the alpha8et?  
CG: OH POINT B. DUH. GOT IT. WHERE IS POINT B?  
AG: Wherever I want it to 8e ;;;;)  
CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA DO YOU.  
CG: I DON’T LIKE THESE LEVELS OF UNCERTAINTY, SERKET. THEY ARE AT THE BOTTOM OF MY APPRECIATION LIST. FOLLOWED BEING BOSSED AROUND AND BEING FUCKED AROUND. DO YOU WANT ME TO PUT YOUR NAME DOWN TOO?  
AG: Grooooooooan.  
AG: Chill out you’ll 8e fine.  
AG: You’re in my domain now Vantas!!!!!!!!  
CG: I’M LITERALLY NOT. I’M ALLEGEDLY TWO DAYS FAR OUT FROM YOUR “DOMAIN.”  
AG: Whatever!!!!!!!! Just 8e ready for take off once you get here. Vriska Serket and the Scourge w8s for no troll.

\-- arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG] ! --

CG: ALRIGHT WELL *P-THE-FUCKING-S*, MY LUSUS WAS A LITTLE TOO BUSY TO TEACH ME HOW TO READ.  
CG: HE WAS BUSY TEACHING ME HOW TO STAY ALIVE.

“Okay,” you say and tuck your palmhusk away, “I officially have _my_ reasons for not liking her. Care to share yours?”

Bitterness comes over Sollux’s expression. “She’s a huge bitch, but I mostly can’t stand her for her kismesis. Or ex-kismesis, who knows what they are this week. He’s FF’s moirail— and a pretty shit one. He’s been trying to get in her hearts since they met. You should have seen the fit he threw when he found out about us.”

“I thought you had to keep your relationship a secret?”

“Apparently she thought telling him would be a good idea,” he sniffs. “Three guards got their guts painted across the walls when she did.”

“So why doesn’t she just break up with him?”

His expression deepens into irritation. “He’s the only thing she has when I’m not there,” he says finally. “No one else is allowed to even look at her. I guess she needs the company that badly.”

“Who’s the one who gets the papping?”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Are you going to turn this whole drive into a question and answer session?” 

During the two sweeps you’ve spent together, Feferi’s personal life has rarely been discussed. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a bit interested. He always clams up, so to speak.

“Do you have anything better to do? I guess we can play a fun game i-spy or something but…” You crane your neck to look out the window. There’s nothing other than Alternia’s purple-turquoise grass and the occasional car speeding up past you. “Not too much to go on.”

Sollux glances up at you in the rear view mirror. “I spy someone who needs to go to sleep.”

“Fine, asshole, jeez.”

You toss your dangling leg back up on the seat and try to force yourself to sleep.

* * *

You haven’t slept in sopor in a long time. You’ve gotten used to the sore limbs and pounding headaches when you wake up, but the one thing that always gets you is the weird ass dreams you have.

You’re sitting in your hive. Everything is like you remember from back when your life was a sliver of normal. Your journals lay open all over your desk, a mess of rambles that would later be turned into memos.

“ _Karkat._ ”

Your bloodpusher skips 3 beats at once. When the feminine voice finishes echoing through your aural shells, she begins to materialize.

She sits on your chest of drawers; her wide, blank eyes glow with a bright white that illuminates your dark respiteblock, black hair framing both her swirling horns and her young face in tight curls. If it wasn’t for those horns, she and Feferi could look like they were hatched from the same slurry. 

“Hey, Aradia,” you say and massage your browline. 

She tilts her head. “ _Good evening._ ” Her maroon lips stay still when she speaks. Her voice sounds more like your own thoughts. “ _You’re moving again._ ”

“Yeah. Something happened, so we gotta go.”

“ _Is it bad?_ ”

You sigh. “As always.”

She reaches a small hand towards you. “ _Will you walk with me?_ ” The wall behind her peels back and flutters away like pieces of torn paper in the wind. Bright, white light floods your eyes.

You blink the harshness away, holding your hand up to shield your face. “Where?”

“ _Wherever the bubbles take us._ ”

Lifting yourself from your chair, you say, “what the fuck else do I have to do?”

Aradia’s smile reaches her eyes. “ _What the fuck else indeed,_ ” she agrees. She slides off the chest, and before you lays a black path that reveals itself in time with 

“ _How is he doing?_ ”

“He’s Sollux,” you say simply. “He’s doing what Solluxes do. Surviving, being a dick.”

“ _I’m glad,_ ” she says. She stares ahead, keeping a steady pace with the occasional skip. 

She was young when she died. Eight sweeps living in a farming settlement with a moirail and a matesprit that could only visit her on occasion. Sollux. The first time you met, she pleaded with you not to tell him about her. 

“ _Are you being nice to each other?_ ”

You choke out a laugh. “We haven’t killed each other yet, have we?”

She gives you a disappointed look. “ _He’s a very sweet boy if you give him the chance. He cares so much._ ” Her empty gaze falls to the floor. “ _He cares too much._ ”

“Not for me,” you say. “He cares about that fact that Feferi cares about me, I guess.”

“ _I’m sure he does._ ” She changes the subject. “ _I have a feeling. A good one; there’s someone with an amazing energy close to you._ ”

“That’s a first.”

“ _But… there’s also a disruption coming,_ ” she says quietly. “ _Tread lightly and be careful with who you let in._ ”

“Way ahead of you, Aradia.”

The air grows cold. The white is slowly beginning to fade into black. Aradia stiffens. “ _She’s around. You have to go,_ ” she warns and puts her hands out to push you back. “ _Be careful out there._ ”

You take two steps backwards and blink. When your eyes reopen, you’re back in your empty room. Aradia is gone. You take a deep breath and sit back at your desk.

You spend the rest of the dream swivelling.

* * *

“KK.”

Your head falls back as the door it was propped up on opens. Something in your posture pole cracks. “ _Fuck_ , dude,” you snap at his upside down face, sour and impatient as ever, “are you trying to snap my throatstem?”

“It woke you up, didn’t it?”

You prop yourself up by the elbows and look out the windshield. He’s got the car parked out in front of a drab, grey brick building with cracking foundation and a neon sign barely managing to flicker out the words _WEST THERAPAN COMMUNAL RESPITEBLOCK._ Underneath, it advertises vacancy.

“This shithole? Really?”

Sollux points his head to the sky. “It’s almost dawn. You want to drive in the sun?”

Were you really out that long? You climb out of the car and shake your legs awake. “West Therapan,” you read, “is this supposed to be one of the stemclusters? Doesn’t look like much of a city to me.”

“This is the outskirts, smart one.” Sollux points downwards, and just barely you can make out the silhouettes of tall buildings. “The city is further down the road.” He starts to walk towards the door to the front office.

The door to the office hands loose on its hinges, the screen looking like it has recently been through a shredder. “What a fucking dump,” you note.

“Sorry, your highness,” Sollux remarks. “This is all I could find before we started to cook. Feel free to sleep in the car some more.”

You gather up your pride and follow him inside.

“...and we’ll be gone by tonight,” Sollux is saying as you enter. “We don’t even need a room with two recuperacoons. Anything you got.”

The troll at the desk reflects the rest of the building. Tired, sunken eyes stare lazily up at Sollux, his mouth tightened into a straight line. “No vacancy,” he gruffs.

“The sign outside says so,” Sollux says.

“And I say no rooms. Your point?”

You come up to Sollux’s side. “What the fuck is happening now?”

“No. Rooms,” the guy emphasizes.

“I beg your fucking _pardon_?” You growl. “That little blinking bullshit sign says that there are rooms open. Did it slip your massive, genius pan to turn the vacancy sign off? Or are you just fucking with us because you felt like being a bulgelicker tonight?”

He opens his flap to say something else, then lets out the loudest exhale he can, muster and shoves himself away from the desk. “If you two aren’t out of my blocks by dusk, I’m coming after you myself.” He pushes the side door open and leads you outside.

You make sure to give Sollux a smirk as you walk past him. He steps on your heel.

The block you’re taken to still doesn’t have a proper recuperacoon, just a cot and a couch, but at this point couch and recuperacoon mean the same thing to you. It’s equipped with a tiny ablutionblock in the back. A nuclear nutrient reheater and bitter bean fluid machine sit on a rickety dresser; both look like they haven’t been cleaned out in sweeps. The desk guy presents it to you with an outstretched arm. You and Sollux pass him inside, and Sollux gives him a couple coins in thanks.

Your partner pulls off his zip-up jacket and hangs it on the only chair in the room. “I’ll take the couch,” he says, loosening some buttons on his shirt. Underneath is a chain with a lock on it. Two arching, fuchsia lines with a dash in between is painted delicately on its face. Sollux thought a ring would be too obvious, so Feferi came up with a necklace.

“No. I got all the sleep I needed on the way here,” you say. “I’ll just stay up until tonight and sleep some more in the car if I need it. Someone’s got to keep a lookout.”

Sollux shrugs and flops himself onto the cot. He looks exhausted, but he’ll never admit it. He runs a hand through hair that’s getting too long.

You kick off your shoes and sit on the swivel chair. The remote for the small television is on the side table, which you take and press the power button on.

A half-finished regulated broadcast is interrupting whatever gameshow you suspect was on prior. The news casterror holds a microphone and recites her lines. “...and finally, the zealot was apprehended. When asked for a statement, she said quote, _‘whatefur I do is fur my cause,’_ end quote.”

The arrested troll in question pops up on the screen to the side. She’s young, probably the same age as you if not a sweep younger. She’s got choppy, jaw-length hair and horns that come to a wide rounded tip. She’s smiling in her mugshot with two sharp teeth hanging over the bottom lip. “What an idiot,” you mumble.

“Her trial date has not been set yet, but for now she will remain in Therapan’s highest security prison until further notice.”

Therapan. Of-fucking-course it's Therapan. “Did you hear that?” You ask Sollux, who is surprisingly still awake yet unsurprisingly typing on his husktop.

“I’ve known all this,” he says without looking up, “FF sent me the info. She told us about this earlier, remember?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “So you brought us to the city she got arrested in? Where everyone is going to be under extreme scrutiny now? How do we know that there isn’t going to be a drone sweep any minute now?”

“This is the place FF directed us to. She knows what she’s doing. We’re safe, KK. Will you trust me for once?” Sollux sighs. “Maybe you _do_ need some sleep.”

“Fuck you,” you deadpan.

He closes his husktop and places it on the floor. “Wake me up when the first moon rises, you neurotic lump. Get. Some. _Sleep._ ”

Instead, you pull out your palmhusk. There’s only one person active.

\--carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling  grimAuxiliatrix [GA]! --

CG: DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING THAT’S GOING ON RIGHT NOW?  
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU DO SO I DON’T HAVE TO REHASH THE PAST WHO KNOWS HOW MANY HOURS I JUST ENDURED.  
GA: I Have An Baseline Understanding Of What Has Happened Tonight  
GA: There Are Some Spots Where I Am In The Dark But If It Helps You Any I Will Refrain From Asking  
GA: Is There Any Reason You Have Initiated A Dialogue Between Us  
CG: OH UH.  
CG: ARE YOU BUSY.  
CG: I FIGURED SINCE IT’S THE MORNING TIME THAT YOU WOULDN’T BE.  
GA: Did You Contact Me For A Reason Karkat  
CG: NO.  
CG: NO NOT REALLY.  
CG: SOLLUX TOLD ME TO GO TO SLEEP BUT FUCK SOLLUX.  
CG: SOLLUX HAS NO CONTROL OVER ME.  
CG: LAST TIME I CHECKED HE WAS NOT A LARGE WHITE CRUSTACEAN.  
CG: NOR WAS HE IN ANY OF MY QUADRANTS.  
CG: SO THEREFORE I DO NOT NEED TO GO TO SLEEP IF I DON’T WANT TO.  
GA: I Do Not See Why I Am Needed For This Outburst Of Emotions  
GA: I Apologize For Being So Blunt But There Is A Long List Of Trolls Who Would Quite Literally Kill To Read Every Emotion You Have In Great Detail  
CG: I’M SORRY FINE FUCK I’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE.  
GA: Sigh  
GA: Are You Okay  
CG: WHAT?  
CG: YES?  
GA: I Am Serious Do You Feel Okay  
GA: I Know That Is The Question You Want Me To Ask Right Now  
CG: I DON’T NEED YOU TO PLAY MOIRAIL WITH ME KANAYA WHAT THE FUCK.  
GA: It Absolutely Does Not Have To Insinuate Anything Like That  
GA: I Am Simply Asking Your State Of Okayness  
GA: If No One Prompts You To Speak About Your Emotions You Will Inevitably Feel Guilty For Voicing Them Anyway  
GA: Are You Okay  
CG: FUCK I MEAN.  
CG: NOT ENTIRELY.  
CG: BUT AT THIS POINT I DON’T KNOW WHAT I CAN CONSIDER OKAY OR NOT OKAY.  
CG: I’M CURRENTLY SHITTING MYSELF IN FEAR.  
CG: WE HAVEN’T BEEN FLAGGED ON THIS BIG OF A SCALE BEFORE.  
CG: IT’S REALLY FUCKING SCARY.  
CG: I’M SCARED.  
CG: I THINK THE LAST TIME I WAS THIS FREAKED OUT WAS WHEN I ALMOST SLEPT THROUGH A DRONE CHECK UP.  
CG: I DON’T KNOW I JUST WANT TO DO MY JOB.  
CG: WHATEVER THE HELL THAT MEANS AT THIS POINT.  
CG: THERE.  
CG: GOT IT ALL OUT IN THE OPEN.  
CG: I’M A GIANT SNIVELLING WRIGGLER.  
CG: ARE YOU SATISFIED.  
GA: Are You  


In response, you throw your palmhusk away from you. Fuck Kanaya, fuck Sollux. Fuck everyone who keeps taking this shit way too calmly. This is your life. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

You spend the rest of the morning swivelling.

_"There is a place I might call home, with a couple of sticks and a couple of stones,_  
_I'll dig a pit and lay my bones."_  
\- Troll Mother Mother, _Omen_


	2. ACT ONE, CHAPTER TWO

_"Some called me a monster, things got super intense."_

You spent the first ten sweeps of your life being what you consider a caged meowbeast. You were— are— the fleet-registered moirail of an indigoblood with biceps the same size as his head, a sweat gland problem, and a need to control. You were a trained soldier for the Empress. You were just another middle class cog in the wheel. It all came to a screeching halt when you decided you wanted to be wild.

Your name is **NEPETA LEIJON** , and you are a **NEWLY APPOINTED CRIMINAL**.

The prison guards were less than kind to you during processing. You sit in your cell, stripped of your coat and other belongings, sporting a new swollen, olive-tinted eye and other scattered bruises. 

The cell is small, concrete, and just cold enough to be annoyingly uncomfortable. Thick bars make up one wall, and you’ve considered trying to wiggle through the spaces between. There’s a single lightbulb on a wire hanging from the ceiling, a metal table and matching chair. You, however, have decided to sit on the floor as an act of defiance. You fidget with your claws.

No one told you what they do with your type. You’re pretty sure you’re the first of your kind, in fact. All things considered, you’ve decided your own sentence to be death. When you were in bootcamp, you were constantly beaten over the head with the fact that your life is never in good paws. Death is always knocking at your door, and it will let itself in if need be.

But things were different back then. You had a partner. You had a buffer— a big, grumpy buffer who could back up your hide when things got tough. Now, you’re alone, sitting on a dusty floor with Death staring at you on the other side of those bars. You wonder if it brought the Handmaid with it.

You’ve landed yourself back inside a cage. This isn’t how your life was supposed to go. This isn’t how your life is going to go. 

You spring to your feet, a new sudden wave of determination filling your body. One look outside your cellblock shows there are no guards posted outside. This makes sense to you; you live in a stemcluster made up of colder blues, all cocky and self-assured with a fraction of half a legislacerator’s pan. You could try the bars again, but your first and only attempt finds that just your arm can fit through.

You turn and assess your surroundings. Table, chair, light on the ceiling, air vent—

Air vent!

It’s planted high on the back wall, a large and silver metal grate. You won’t be able to reach it from your height on the floor. You test the give on the table. It’s heavy and groans when you push it, but with the lack of guards or neighbours in the other cells, you’re able to move it against the back wall. The chair is almost as heavy, but it helps you onto the surface of the table once you bring it over too. 

The vent is now just out of reach. You heave the chair up with all the upper body strength you gained during training; it lands with a solid, loud clang of metal against metal. You cringe, hold your breath, listen for a reaction. Nothing. You step up on the chair, now leveled with the grate and in turn, the screws holding it shut.

You take a claw and stick it into the divets in one of the bottom screws. No fear of them breaking; your time sketching on your cavehive walls toughened them up over time. It takes a few wrenches of the wrist, but with enough convincing your nail begins to turn smoother. One screw pops off, then the other. Your halfway through the third, the top left, when you hear the sound of footsteps. 

Two pairs, just starting to go down a flight of stairs. Your bloodpusher picks up momentum.

You crank your wrist harder to get the screw off quicker, and when it falls on to the table, the grate swings limp on one side. You heave yourself up and inside, kicking your legs behind you in an effort to scramble inside the passage faster. 

The creak from the grate and the plink sounds of screws landing alerted whoever is coming down the stairs. Your feet narrowly slide inside.

You hear a female voice curse, “oh, for _fucksake!_ ” and that’s all it takes for you to start shimmying down the tunnel as fast as your body can take you.

* * *

It’s a disorientating maze. You suspect you’ve been up here for at least a half an hour. An alarm has started blaring outside, a corresponding red light occasionally coating the tunnels.

Your knees ache and you have no idea where you’re going. You crawl down one direction, find a dead end, back up until you can pick another path. It’s dark and stagnant in here, even with the flashes of scarlet light. You find yourself taking more shallow breaths amongst the tension. 

At one point, you pass a grate leading into a room of cursing trolls, all asking about your whereabouts. 

_“Do you know what the fuck she’s in here for? The Counselor should use your posture pole for a cane!”_

_“How the fuck was I supposed to know this would happen? I wasn’t even the idiot stationed to watch her!”_

_“Are you two really just standing in here squabbling like grubs? Get your asses out there. Axeial, take the left wing hallways; Leprow, the roof for you.”_

_“Yes, Counselor, sir.”_

You promptly decide _not that way!_ and skitter backwards again.

Heading down a passage that grows in width the further down you get, cooler air begins to lick at your cheeks. A glow of hope begins to bloom in your acid tract. A spotlight illuminates the floor at the end of the tunnel, your proverbial light. You push yourself forward with a purpose. 

The light breeze turns into a heavier gust that picks up your hair as you look up. Light now fills your eyes, which you are not too bothered by. A small ladder leads upwards; you climb up and use all your strength to bust open the screen at the top.

Once finally freed from the first and last air vent you want to navigate in the next few sweeps, you stretch your stiff arms upwards and shake the crick from your neck.

You’re on the rooftop. One look over the ledge tells you you’re _really_ high up! It’s just fully gotten dark, the start of Therapan’s first rush hour, and you can see the flickering lights of life in the distance. The alarm screeching continues out through the loudspeakers throughout the grounds. You barely hear the “hey!” shouted behind you.

You spin around. A younger troll with wide eyes and her specibus drawn stands a few feet away from you. It’s a shearkind, the two thin, sharp, and comically large blades open towards you.

It isn’t hard to tell that this won’t be a fair fight. You’re without a weapon on the top of a who knows how many story building. Still, you level yourself to make a dodging pounce when the moment comes. The troll rushes you, you lunge to the side and catch yourself with your palms.

When you hit the ground, you see to your left a lone piece of scrap metal the size of your forearm. You reach out and grab it, the all-around serrated edge digging into your hand. The adrenaline in your veins keeps the stinging away from your pan.

You scramble to your feet as your opponent attempts to run another swipe towards you. You weave again, the blade nicks your blocking arm, you retaliate with a clumsy, wide strike that clatters against the shears. 

You swing back and forth, desperate sweeping until you find an opening to her side. You land the blow, a cut opening the fabric of her shirt and staining grey skin with cold blue blood. 

The troll hisses in a mix of pain and panic, backing away and clutching her wound. “Look, man— I just started this shit, I don’t— I mean—”

You could tell by her frantic fighting style that she is inexperienced. You squint, pulling your best threatening face. With the point of your blade centering between her oculars, you say firmly, “give me your palmhusk and specibus,” and then a bit more soft add, “I don’t want to hurt mew, I purromise.”

Throughout all your time as a ruffiannihilator basic, you never killed. You maimed, frightened, never killed.

Shaking hands pull out a palmhusk from her back pocket. She slides both it and her specibus towards you, then raises blood tinged palms up in defense.

“How do I get out of here?” You question as you captchalogue the loot.

“Staircase for the fire escape,” she answers. “Same way I got up.” Her finger points to a half opened glass door on the opposite end of the roof. “Fourth door down leads to the exit— but I doubt you’ll get out either way.”

“Any alpurrnatives?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Fuck, if you think you can make those jumps, be my guest.” 

You examine the distance between the flat rooftops, a challenge more than a threat. A coy smile pulls at your muzzle. “We’ll see about that.” You pad up to the ledge.

One thing you were known for the most in bootcamp— aside from your ‘freak’ of a moirail— were your reflexes. You were raised by a giant meowbeast, of course you had the upper paw when it came to heightened senses and acrobatic skills. You consider yourself just cool enough to have escaped mutation culling during conscription.

This is not a very dangerous gap by your standards, other than the long fall should you fail. You back up, breathe in deep to ease your nerves, and take off into a sprint. You launch yourself forward off one leg, spreading your arms to catch the air as you swiftly make your leap. It’s a clean landing on the opposite foot, and you run a few paces more forward to slow your momentum. You inhale, exhale hard.

You look back. You’ve put enough distance between yourself and the cell building for your own comfort, dipping behind a unit similar to the one you crawled out of for extra cover. Taking out your new palmhusk, you see the other troll has left unread messages opened on her Trollian.

GC: L3PROW R3PORT   
GC: L3PROW 4R3 YOU 1N POS1T1ON   
GC: R3PORT C4D3T   
GC: L3PROW YOU 4R3 M4K1NG M3 TH1NK YOU 4R3 31TH3R 1GNOR1NG 4 SUP3R1OR OR D34D  
GC: 1F YOU W4NT TO K33P TH1S UP 1 SUGG3ST YOU 41M TO ACCOMPL1SH TH3 L4TT3R

You log out and enter your own account information. You frown when you see your chumproll; he still has himself set to idle, even though you know it’s a lie. Against your better judgement, you open the chat log.

\--  arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]\--!

AC: :33< equihiss???  
AC: X((< meow is not the time to ignore me!!!  
AC: :33< i n33d your help  
AC: :33< im sorry i didnt listen okay??? purrlease anspurr me  
AC: :((< please?

No response. But did you really expect anything less? The last time you spoke, he was warning you about this very situation happening. You shake the negative out of your mind. You can’t sit here and dwell. You stand, stuffing the palmhusk away.

You take in the exact details of where you are: the top of what you can assume is a hangar due to the engine sounds rumbling under your feet, likely for legislacerator ships used for transport. You’re accompanied by a hatch leading inside and no other way to go. You figure there will be too much commotion going on down there for anyone to notice you slip out. 

The hatch door opens heavy. You peer inside, unsurprisingly right about the mess of trolls boarding their respective ships and barking orders to their crew. You hover above a large, decorated ship colored in a deep garnet. 

The fall, you conclude, won’t be that risky. No one appears to have reached the upper deck yet, so without hesitation you throw your legs over the edge and slide your body off into the hangar.

Like the true meowbeast you are, you land on your feet yet again. You were right about no one seeming to be on the deck.

However, you will come to find you will quickly be proven wrong.

There isn’t any time to properly react to the bang, and you yowl with an animalistic cry that burns your throat. You clench a paw against the excruciating pain that bursts into your upper arm. Reeling in shock, you land hard onto your knees, hunching forward and squeezing your eyes tight. Someone starts clapping.

“Excellent shot, Adalov!” A voice sings.

You force eyes stinging with green tears open. A short, brightly uniformed legislacerator is striding towards you. She guides herself forward with a cane, and when in front of you, she pulls it apart in a smooth motion. With the point of the steel blade, she tilts your head upwards. Her eyes are hidden behind red frames.

“Nepeta Leijon,” she says, “you are hereby under Imperial arrest aboard the _Lawjester_. You are under strict command to remain silent.”

* * *

Just like that, you are back in a cage. 

This time, however, you are properly restrained. They put you in tight prongcuffs and the legislacerator’s gunman, a blueblood with a set of pierced horns, made sure to tie you securely to the chair.

This is not a cerulean holding cell meant for petty criminals, this is a real cell block— smaller, colder, darker. No vents to escape through, no bars to wiggle through, just four cement walls and a tall, metal door. 

You sit in your little chair with an aching body, bandaged gunshot wound, and paws behind your back for what feels like hours. You could have even dozed off if not for the door finally opening and white, fluorescent light attacking your eyes. You blink, they burn.

The legislacerator steps into the block. She is the same as before, but this time alone, gloved hands folding gracefully over the dragon head of her cane. She gives you no expressions to read, she holds herself still as stone. 

“Name, caste symbol, date of hatching?”

“Nepeta Leijon,” you respond, “Leo, seventh perigree of the second light cycle in 3014.”

“You’re young.”

You shrug. Your shoulder pangs in response.

“You don’t think so? Eleven would be what most call young.”

“Sure,” you say. All of the crime dramas you watched back at your cave showed you how other misunderstood good guys acted in this same situation: cool, unbothered, short.

Her lips tighten into a line. “This was not what I had expected when I envisioned tonight’s massive pain in my side,” she says wryly, “but I suppose you’ll do.”

“Sorry, I think…?” You respond.

“No need. In fact, I should be thanking you for taking a palmhusk away from one of my cadets with the tracking application still installed.” She allows a slanted smile to grow. “We have much to discuss, Ms. Leijon.”

“All mew respect, ma’am, but I don’t think I really want to talk to mew?”

Her shoulders pull back, posture straightens. “Terezi Pyrope,” she introduces, unprompted. “I believe you’ll find it in your best interest to talk to me.” Her paw lifts slightly as if to offer a handshake, but instead is used to adjust her glasses.

“How so?”

“Answering my questions truthfully. Do so, and your chance of being released goes up by about ninety-nine point nine percent.”

You tilt your head. “What questions?”

“We can start with this. Who do you work for?” She asks.

“No one,” you answer with a hint of pride. “I do this all on my own.”

She doesn’t look very pleased with your answer. “You have work plastered all over Therapan, multiple popping up almost every night. You mean to tell me that not only do you do this all by yourself, you do it without any gain?”

“Whatefur I do is fur my claws,” you repeat from your statement to the news cameras.

“Cute,” Terezi says flatly, “but we’ve already searched through your stemblock and combed through your husktop. We found records of payments to your PreyPal account that correspond with the dates of certain murals you’ve made.”

“I did occasional commissions! Sometimes mew want to send a message but don’t know how, so mew come to me. But I nefur worked fur a single purrson more than once.”

She scrolls through something on her wrist top. The faint reflection of her lenses shows a column of tiny font forming a list. “These are aliases. We couldn’t find identification documents that lined up with any of these names,” she notes, “this doesn’t provide me with any solid proof that you were employed by multiple people.”

“If you expect me to rat out my clients, you’re wrong,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“You have no accomplices then?”

You shake your head. “Efurryone I’ve met is too much of a cluckbeast to do what I do.”

“Hmm,” she sounds. “Why are there such long gaps between Trollian logs with you and your moirail?”

The topic change catches you off guard. “He has nothing to do with this,” you jump to reply, suddenly much more defensive. “Has he tried to clawntact me?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Ouch.

Then she presses, “have you been deleting messages? We can recover them either way, so to lie will only waste our time.”

“I didn’t.” You explain, “sometimes we go a while without talking is all.”

Terezi lowers her brows. “Maybe I’m not the best call of judgement in this case, but, to me, that doesn’t sound like a very healthy moirallegiance.”

You sag. “He doesn’t exactly apurrove of my lifestyle. We get into spats.”

“I’m actually acquainted with Colonel Zahhak. I’ve had lengthy, even personal conversations with him throughout his career— yet he’s never brought up a past or present moirail. Sure, hide your kismesis, maybe hide your matesprit, but why you?”

“I already said! Would mew be purroud of your midblood meowrail believing in equal blood?”

She seems to ponder this, runs her tongue over a fang, but instead of directly answering she asks, “is that why you left your position aboard the Terrorquestor?”

“I didn’t leave,” you huff. “I was left here. Abandoned by a stuffy new Ruffiannihilator commander and his new crew who didn’t care about me at all beclaws I’m green.”

“For someone who spouts hemoegalitarianism, you seem to have a level of animosity for highbloods,” Terezi says pointedly.

You nibble your bottom lip. “What does this have to do with anything? What does Equius have to do with what I did on my own?”

“Motive,” she replies simply. “Motive is the beginning of anything and everything. Are you an active rebel out of spite? Out of boredom?” She leans her weight forward onto her cane. From this new angle, you can see scarred over, bright red eyes focused on you. Her fingers tap rhythmically on her cane, and you wonder if she’s growing impatient.

“Besides all that,” the lawtroll continues with a growing grin, “I’m extremely interested to know why my partner is so keen on your story.”

“Your partner?”

She nods once. “I will be blunt with you, Ms. Leijon. While you’re very lucky it was the _Lawjester_ you landed on, you almost had a subjugglator-style interrogation before I agreed to come down here.” 

You feel something claw its way into your throat at the mere thought. 

“So, I will ask my initial question again. Who do you work for?” She stiffens her stance again, then adds, “to further clarify, how deep into the Rebellion do you sit?” 

“I don’t know what mew want me to say,” you insist, “I’m just an artist.”

“An artist with some pretty famous blood,” she replies. 

Out from her captchalogue, she presents a black file folder with a familiar sign— the symbol of the Signless Sufferer— in a familiar color— your olive green. 

Her wrist top bleeps. 

She glances down at it, frowns, then turns back to you and says, “you’re staying in here, but I’ll leave you with some light reading.” She circles behind you, unsheathes her sword, and cuts clean through the prongcuffs.

The ropes still hold you in the chair, but you can massage your sore wrists as the file is placed in your lap. Underneath the green symbol reads _DATABOOK #0723-0823: The Disciple_.

“I’ll be back, Leijon.”

With that, Terezi Pyrope is gone.

* * *

She was a travelling performer, known fairly well by surrounding settlements for storytelling via her movements. Between villages, she was enslaved by a group of highbloods and used for their entertainment. She was sold off to a young subjuggulator [SEE DATABOOK #1222-0120] and spent a long while in his keep. 

When the Signless came into the city she resided in, the surrounding buildings bursted into a great inferno. The subjuggulator, finding no use for her, abandoned her to the chaos and sailed away.

Though we have scanned through her writings countless amount of times, there is no clear information on how she came into contact with the Signless, Psiioniic, and Dolorosa, aside from brief mentions of him saving her life in later journals down the line.

Little is also known about the exactness of the relationship between she and the Signless, though it is assumed they held each other mainly within the red quadrant amongst flips. She served as his scribe and is the main source of all filed transcripts, roughly translated from old Alternian and grammatical errors; she was the only one who had taught herself how to read and write during her time on an unknown ship.

After the final arrest of the Four, she was sentenced to death alongside the Signless due to her being the most extensive in knowledge of his teachings and ideology. Her executioner, the exiled Archeradicator known under the name Darkleer, was banished after allowing enough error for her to escape free.

There is limited documentation on her life A.S., but reports may point to sightings in lowblood villages sweeps after. Her ultimate D.O.D is unknown.

DATABOOK #0723-0823 considered INCOMPLETE.

* * *

You finish reading with a lump in your throat that you can’t swallow. 

Inside the back cover is a pocket, and inside the pocket is a chain. It’s blackened with age and rust, flecks of olive ingrained in the silver, and holds two swooping lines ending in circles as it’s pendant. You hold it as far up as you can.

The length in time between Terezi leaving, you reading, and Terezi coming back is mere minutes, but the legislacerator walks into the block looking noticeably more disheveled and a bit uneasy. This is the first time you see her without her confident air.

“So you’re finished?”

“I— I don’t know what this means,” you stutter, bewildered. “I’m not this— this isn’t me.”

She replies, “it’s only a portion of her file, very hard to get one’s hands on. At any rate, my partner finds it you enough to be of use. I am going to give you a task,” Terezi explains. “Choose to go through with it, do it correctly, and no one will be harmed.” 

Her tone is serious, her face tellingly stressed. “This is your only way out, Nepeta.”

“What do I have to do?” You ask quieter, meeker than you want to sound. Your bloodpusher thumps.

“How devout of a follower are you?”

“I… I don’t know. I follow the mewmeow boards but… I don’t go to meetings and stuff.”

“You know nothing about the Resurrected other than his words.”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“I have a very inside source that has informed me he has recently arrived in Therapan,” she says. “You would have to monitor him. Keep him… intact.”

“Monitor him?” Your eyes widen, scanning the floor as if the answer to all this is etched into the concrete. 

“When the time is right, we’ll come and collect you. I can’t stress this enough, neither me or my colleague want him hurt.” She sighs and rubs the narrow bridge of her nose.

“I don’t see how I—”

“I need your answer now. Yes or no?”

“...Yes,” you say after a long pause.

Her spine pulls upwards as if on a string. She lifts her head again, regaining control over her composure. “You’ll be equipped with a palmhusk and dropped off at their location.” Terezi takes a dated palmhusk from her jacket pocket and holds it out to you. “It’s tracked,” she adds. “I cannot express enough how important it will be to not fuck this up.”

You stare at the phone now in your hand, nodding idly. It has the barebones: Safeari, Trollian, Chittr. The Trollian app is already logged into your account.

(Equius hasn’t replied.)

“Adalov will be taking you,” Terezi continues. “From there, you wait until I contact you for updates.” 

The legislacerator leaves for the last time. 

* * *

The troll named Mallek Adalov comes back in, unbinds you. You’re reunited with your jacket, at least, and are stuffed into the back seat scuttlebuggy. 

There’s no ongoing conversation between you and the driver, just a silent stretch of road leading out of Therapan.

“Where are we going?” You venture. His eyes glance up to the rearview mirror, the faintest sign of cerulean blue flecks in the irises, but he says nothing. You stare out the window, feeling ultimately defeated, and play with the pendant tucked underneath the high collar of your shirt.

The clutter of tall buildings and traffic fades out, leaving the more rural part of your stemcluster in its wake.

A little further out, a sign reading _WEST THERAPAN COMMUNAL RESPITEBLOCK_ , a motel showing signs of wear and age. 

Mallek pulls up to the front door. “Your stop,” he states.

“Right, thank you,” you respond, eyes fixed on the screen door. “What do I say?”

He shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Good luck.” You know he doesn’t mean it.

You climb out, and without any goodbyes he peels off down the street. You watch the car as it gets further and further until you feel the palmhusk vibrate in your jacket pocket.

GC: H3R3S TH3 ONLY 1M4G3 W3 H4V3 OF TH3 T4RG3T  


GC: JUST LOOK FOR TH3 HORNS R34LLY

Attached is a grainy snapshot of a troll standing outside of a building. He has his hood halfway pulled up to cover his head, but his short and round horns are not yet covered. You can see why this is the identifying factor, you haven’t seen horns like that before.

The parking lot is quiet. Someone with a nicotine cylinder hanging from their mouth examines you carefully from the corner of their eye. You give a tiny wave, they look away.

A door creaks open, one that leads into a communal respiteblock. Two trolls walk through, one tall, one short, both visibly annoyed. Your throat tightens. The shorter troll has those horns. You linger on him for too long, he notices.

“Can I help you?”

Taller troll nudges him. “Leave it,” he says.

But shorter troll has been eyeing you just as hard. His face twists when he finds in your existence what he was looking for. He tenses. “ _You_. I know you.” 

Tall troll glances between the two of you, confused.

“This is the one I showed you on the news last night, dumbfuck.”

You spent a large portion of your adolescence roleplaying on forums and occasionally roping Equius in. You were never allowed to participate in FLARP, but you consider yourself halfway decent at playing a character.

A hefty sigh pulls all the air from your lungs. You drop your shoulders, wrap yourself in your arms, bite at your lower lip and avoid direct eye contact. “I know, I—”

Short troll leaves his partner’s side, storming up to you and pointing a finger in your face. He comes up just below eye level. “Are you fucking serious? You have such massive shameglobes you thought coming to me was a good idea? You’re—” He cuts himself off, realizes something, and takes a half step back. He pales. “How the fuck are you _here?_ ”

“I broke out,” you blurt, pulling the first excuse you can think of out of your chute. “I escaped.” In an attempt to come off more convincing, you slide your jacket off your shoulders and exhibit your injuries. “I have… bounty hunters after me, so I was going to hide out here.”

“Bounty hunters?” Tall troll repeats, catching up to short troll. “As in, like, laughassassins or something?” 

“Yeah,” you agree, “three giant clown guys.”

Tall troll gives an expression that reads as doubtful. “You managed to get away from three laughassassins on your own?”

“I guess I know my city better than them,” you offer. You spot the keys in tall troll’s hand. “Are you guys heading out of here?”

“Yeah. Thanks to your fun little travelling art show, we have to fuck off the whole planet. We’re really grateful, by the way,” short troll growls through gritting teeth.

Tall troll catches on and asks, “you need a way out of here, don’t you?” which prompts short troll to snap his head up towards him with horror in his eyes.

“I think the absolute fuck not,” he hisses. “Have you lost the last two functioning cells in your pan? Did all that caffeine rot your good decision making functions?”

“We can’t just leave her here for the clowns, KK,” tall troll retorts. “She dies and this whole city might go to shit. Remember all that shit you said about rioting?”

He gives a few exasperated laughs in response. “Well, sure is grand that we’re scheduled for blast off pretty soon, huh?”

Tall troll narrows bicolored eyes at him, then looks to you. They remind you of the lawtroll, scarred in some spots and fleshy in others. “We can drop you off in the next stemcluster over.”

“Who the fuck is we?!”

“Sorry, _me_ ,” tall troll says. “I'm dropping her off. You know, the driver?” He massages his brow. “Just get in the damn car, KK.”

Short troll lets out a frustrated noise, rolls his head on his neck so hard you think it might fly off, then walks away towards a black scuttlebuggy with his hands pulling at his hair.

“Is he… okay?” You ask.

“He’s fine,” tall troll says, watching him get into the front passenger and slamming the door. “Sollux.” He holds a hand out for you. It’s thin and cold. “The primadonna is Karkat.”

“Nepeta Leijon. Thank you so, so much.”

Sollux exhales sharp. “Don’t mention it,” then adds, “seriously, don’t. It might set KK off again.”

You follow wordlessly back to the car. Things aren’t meant to happen this easily.

_"But I don't think I did nothing wrong,_  
_your honor, I claim self-defense."_  
\- Troll The Front Bottoms, _Handcuffs_


	3. ACT ONE, CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of a trigger warning just in case? one mention of ableist-esque language from karkat

_“You saw them having trouble breathing, I know you think that it’s your fault  
I saw you hiding in the ivy, keeping quiet through the fall.”_

“Are you going to be a pouting bitch the whole way there?”

“I don’t know, Sollux,” you grumble, “are you gonna pick up any more strays?”

Groaning, Sollux says doggedly, “I wasn’t just going to leave her for the clowns, KK. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

You learned her name is Nepeta. She’s just as scrappy as she was when you saw her mugshot on the TV, now with even more bruises and a blotchy green ring around her eye. She took your spot in the back seat, snoring soft with her horns occasionally clicking against the window. She’s got her legs pulled up to her chest, wrapping her body within the olive green coat she’s wearing. She knocked out cold within the first ten minutes of the drive. 

“We’re leaving her in the next city,” you say.

“I’m aware,” Sollux replies dully.

“And I swear to the Gods,” you threaten for the dramatics, “if you pull some more good guy martyr shit, I’m going to find the first air lock on Vriska’s ship and shove you out.”

“I thought we _were_ good guy martyrs?” He taunts. There’s that feeling of wanting to punch him again.

“Are you planning on telling Feferi?”

He stops short on a syllable, and his expression clouds. It’s always a delicious moment of triumph when you land a good zinger on him. “Of course,” he says at length, biting at his lip. “It’s not that big of a deal. She’ll be grateful,” he adds, unconvincing, like he’s trying to talk himself into believing that.

You try to read him. He’s stiff, hands firm on the wheel, head pointed straight toward the windshield. It always unnerved you to think about how you never really know where he’s looking. At the best of times, Sollux is a frantic mess. At the worst of times, he can be eerily still. “How long until we get there?”

“Not long,” he answers, “maybe two hours. Two and a half at the most.”

“I bet there’s going to be a fuck ton of cops around,” you say, a thinly veiled attempt to goad him. “Loads of checkpoints.”

“We keep following this road and we’ll miss most if not all of them. It never really enters Therapan.”

“And when we get stopped?”

Checkpoints are not a concept lost on you, but usually you’re in the backseat and can get away with either fake-sleeping or genuinely being clocked out.

Sollux sighs through a clenched jaw. “She can fit between the seats and you’ll throw your sweater over her or something.”

“Why the fuck does it have to be mine?”

He glares, a stray spark of blue flying and fizzling into the air. “Why are you choosing to be a mega dick right now?”

“Fuck you,” is the only comeback you have.

The car quiets. Sollux pays attention to the drive. The road is definitely the road less travelled; it’s gravel and rough, the sounds of pebbles hitting the bottom of the car and filling the silence. You read through your forums and memos and messages with minimal attention given. Nepeta sores.

“I heard from her,” Sollux says abruptly, “before we left the motel.”

“Joy,” you deadpan.

“You’re going to be okay.”

Sollux is not good at being comforting. When he tries to sound anything other than sarcastic or smart, he becomes painfully awkward. You rarely ever talk emotions between the two of you— and you’d love to keep it that way— but whenever you do, it’s always a shitshow.

You lift your head, looking at him bemused. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t ask anything,” he says quickly, defensive, “she just sent me a few messages.”

“I have no idea what you're on about.”

“KN is right,” he continues cautiously, “you can’t just wait for someone to ask you what’s wrong. You can just… talk about stuff.”

Oh. You thought he was referring to Feferi, not about Kanaya making sure everyone knew about your latest meltdown.

“No one wants to hear my bullshit.”

“That’s not even remotely true.” 

“I mean it. Everyone loves to hear me bitch about the Empire, but once I start talking about myself, the room clears out.”

Sollux gives his head a little shake. “There’s a massive difference between you bitching because you’re a little tired and actual issues you’re having, you know. You can’t work with a pan like that— let alone live.”

You scoff. “Gee, thanks bestie, You wanna pull over and pile?”

“Whatever, dude.” He frowns deep. “Be like that if you want. Just stop thinking that you have to hide shit, okay? I’m on your side. It doesn’t have to mean anything else.”

A Trollian notification pings from behind. Nepeta jolts awake, lands a swift kick to the back of your seat, and pulls a palmhusk from her coat pocket. You whirl in your seat to face her, hand rubbing your lower back. “What the fuck was that?” You demand, “and how the hell do you have a fucking phone?”

She’s typing furiously. She reads her screen like it’s her enlistment paperwork, anxious eyed and hands vibrating with anticipation. When she finishes, she lets out a shaky breath and offers up a half-smile. “Just my furrend,” she replies smoothly, “asking if I’m okay. He was really worried— I mean, duh.”

“Doesn’t answer my question about you, a former prisoner, having a personal communication device. You know, those things they usually confiscate and destroy once they take it from you?”

“I managed to get it back when I got my coat,” she claims. “I’m purretty stealthy.”

You don’t think she’s within punchable status, but her arrogant attitude is flying rapidly towards extremely annoying— and the accent doesn’t help her none.

“Does your friend live in Therapan?” asks Sollux.

“No,” she says. “He lives offplanet. Too old fur Alternia.”

“And you’re how old?”

“Eleven.”

“One whole sweep too old to be here.” You feel like an interrorgator, but you have no reason to act like anything else. You have no idea about this troll at all. No background other than being criminally stupid. 

Nepeta brushes off any concern. “Military and me didn’t mix furry good. No room fur artists in the Fleet.”

“So they just let you go?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but Sollux interjects, “get down, NP.”

“Huh?”

“Get down _now!_ ” He barks.

You called it. Two adult bluebloods, dark in the skin and taller than Sollux, even, dressed in fancy uniforms and wielding twin riflekinds. They stand together on the side of the road, harassing the car in front of you, and it gives you ample time to grab the sweater you were using as a blanket and toss it to Nepeta, who unbuckles herself and slips into the space between the front and back seats. She curls up as tight as she can, and with her body already small enough, your sweater obscures almost all of her.

Meanwhile, your bloodpusher is traveling through your guts. “Sollux,” you say, coming out more pathetically whimpery than you’d like.

“I know,” he eases, “I know. It’s fine.” His right hand gives your shoulder a half-assed pat. “Relax.”

“We’re fucked,” you say.

“ _Relax_ ,” he stresses. “You have your contacts on, right?”

“No, I decided to live on the edge tonight.” Of course you have your fucking contacts in. They give your eyes a more burgundy tinge, which is better than nothing. You rarely ever take them out.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Put your hood up.” You want to believe him so badly, but your leg begins to bounce on its own and your acid tract flips. You pull the hood of your jacket over your horns.

The scuttlebuggy before you pulls away. Sollux inches forward. You stare at your legs. You can faintly hear Nepeta shifting behind you. You want to scream at her to shut up, they’ll hear you, we’ll be dead, but instead you close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing.

Sollux rolls the window up. One troll strides up to the door while the other begins to circle the car. “Evening, gents,” he drawls, flashing a sickeningly white smile. “Gonna be needing to see some identification.”

Sollux pulls his fake from the center console and hands it over. The troll takes it, swipes it through a card slot on a hand held machine. It beeps, then sings in a higher tone. “Clean?” Sollux asks.

The troll nods and returns his card. “Need that one's too,” he says, motioning for you. His partner stops at your window. Your nerves make you gag bile into your mouth.

“He’s not driving,” Sollux says.

“Did I stutter _pi-th vein-th?_ ” He cocks his head, leaning closer and curling his upper lip. “Not the fucking point. Hand it over.” You shove your I.D. out. It’s the one Feferi sent you for emergencies, and you don’t know what exactly she meant by emergency, but this feels close enough.

There’s a loud clack of something solid against plexiglass; the partner decides to tap your window with the tip of his gun a few times. You yelp and Sollux inhales sharply, snapping his spine straight up. Your hecklers begin to laugh, a loud and harsh guffaw. When the moment subsides, your card is swiped. You hold your breath and wait for those beeps.

Beep. _Beep!_

“Alright,” Sollux says, “we’re obviously clean of whatever the fuck you’re looking for. Can we go now? We’re just trying to get home.”

The troll gives your I.D. to Sollux, who passes it off to you. He tuts. “Guess they don’t teach you young folks a sense of humor on Alternia anymore,” he jeers.

“Guess not,” Sollux responds. “Are we all good?”

“As good as you lot can get,” he gruffs. “Fuck outta here.” He fires a shot into the air. You jump again.

Sollux brings up the window as fast as he can, skirting away. You finish shitting yourself.

“You can come back up now, Nepeta,” he says when the checkpoint disappears from sight.

She drags herself up and back into her seat. “That was a rush!” She breathes, ruffling up her static-filled hair.

You whip around. “A fucking _rush?_ ” You snarl, “is this some little game to you? Am I missing out on the fun factor here? Are you so fucking dense that you don’t understand we could have been killed then and there?”

“Efurry thing went fine! It’s ofur now.”

You feel the anger burning in your chest. “You must be way fucking slower than I thought if you think it’s over— if you think it’s _ever_ going to be over.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you snap with venom. “Just no. Shut the fuck up. For the rest of the time you and me are forced to share the same air. Get that?”

She shrinks back. Good.

* * *

It’s a grueling drive the rest of the way to the stemcluster called Faryest. It’s another tightly packed cerulean city, though this time it’s lined by a wide and fully docked shipyard and is lacking in security swarm. You figure word hasn’t gotten around yet. Ideally, you can board one of those ships within this hour, everything will go smoothly, and along the way you can dump Nepeta and never think about her again. But at this point, you don’t know where your luck lies.

“Let VK know we’re getting close,” Sollux says.

“Yes, sir,” you sneer under your breath, still feeling that burn of irritation. Vriska’s handle has a yellow idle dot next to it, but that’s not stopping you.

\--  carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] \--!

CG: ATTENTION CAPTAIN SERKET: THIS IS CAPTAIN VANTAS OF THE S.S. IMPORTANT AS FUCK SPEAKING.  
CG: WE WILL BE DOCKING AT YOUR STATION OR WHAT THE FUCK EVER IN HOPEFULLY T-MINUS LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR IF I CAN GET MY PILOT TO HAUL ASS A LITTLE FASTER.  
CG: WE HAVE OUR OWN CARGO TO DROP OFF FIRST.  
CG: NOT MY FAULT BY THE WAY.  
AG: Cargo????????  
AG: What does that mean?  
CG: SOLLUX PICKED UP A STRAY MEOWBEAST WHO SAYS DUMB SHIT AND HAS A WEIRD ACCENT BACK AT THE MOTEL.  
CG: A MEOWBEAST THAT GOT ARRESTED RECENTLY.  
AG: Oh shit do you mean the Therapan chick????????  
AG: That’s fucking priceless! How did that even happen?  
CG: FUCK OFF IT IS NOT PRICELESS SHE’S ANNOYING AS ALL HELL AND SMELLS BAD.  
CG: SHE TOLD US A SOB STORY ABOUT HER PRISON BREAK AND SOLLUX FELL FOR IT.  
AG: Does she know who you are?  
CG: I THOUGHT SO. SO I JUST WENT WITH IT.  
AG: Wow okay. Nice to know you’re cool with 8lowing your cover so quick.  
CG: I’M NOT.  
CG: IT WAS A HEAT OF THE MOMENT THING OKAY WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WERE SUDDENLY FACE TO FACE WITH SOMEONE YOU GOT ARRESTED FOR SOME DUMB SHIT?  
AG: Uuuuuuuusally when I see people I got locked up after a while they want to start shit.  
CG: I. WELL.  
CG: POINT TAKEN.  
CG: OKAY YOU’RE DEFINITELY THE WRONG PERSON TO ASK BUT STILL.  
CG: WE HAVE NO IDEA WHERE WE’RE GOING TO DROP HER BUT WE’RE DOING THAT BEFORE COMING TO YOU.  
CG: DO YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED READY? BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO SPEND ANYMORE TIME ON THIS SHITHOLE PLANET THAN I NEED TO.  
AG: Don’t worry a8out my quack8easts! They’re all in a nice little row.  
AG: You can just leave her at my headquarters you know.  
CG: TRUST ME YOU DON’T WANT HER.  
AG: I pro8a8ly don’t! 8ut it’ll 8e one less thing for you to worry a8out, which means one less thing for me to worry a8out. 8esides, that’s kind of what my 8usiness is for anyway.  
CG: FUCKING FINE BUT I WARNED YOU.  


\--  carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] \--!

“Change of plans. Vriska’s taking her,” you relay to Sollux.

“I thought she couldn’t come with?”

“She’s not,” you say. “She’s not going to. We’re leaving her at Vriska’s spot and letting her people decide what to do with her.

Sollux sighs. “Why do you insist on being so vicious to everyone you meet? This girl hasn't done anything to you, and you're acting like she slaughtered your lusus and shat in your bitter bean fluids.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just so used to everyone blowing their top when they even think of my existence, so I guess I just started picking it up as my own thing,” you spit. “I’m getting really tired of you trying to feelings-jam me, by the way. If I get anymore tired, I might just fall asleep so hard I’ll never have to sleep again.”

“I’m not trying to feelings-jam you, you dick,” he shoots back. “I’m trying to make sure the whole reason I’m stuck on this glorified space rock doesn’t kill himself— on accident or on purpose. Not exactly a vacation.”

Nepeta moans awake, saving you the pain of carrying this conversation on any longer. “Are we… here?” She yawns wide. “The city?”

“Yeah,” Sollux answers. “We’re going to have you stay with a friend, cool?”

“Who’s the furrend?”

“A pilot. They’ll take care of you there,” he lies. You know he has just as much of an idea of the shit show you’re about to walk into as you do, especially with the negative connotation he already has surrounding the words Vriska Serket.

You cruise past the lively parts of the city and enter what you would consider an abandoned slum. Less and less trolls and traffic begin to appear, until you can only see the occasional shifty figure standing ominously on a street corner. Dark brick buildings line the street, and even with the closed car windows you begin to smell sea salt. You go so far in, you start to question whether or not Sollux knows where he’s going.

“These are the directions FF gave me,” he says. “I wouldn’t expect even someone as cocky as VK can be to leave something like this out in the open for all to witness.”

You say nothing back, just look out the window. Minutes pass. It’s reaching the darkest time of night, the shoreline you can now openly see shining against the light of the moons. A street lamp flickers weakly, then goes out completely. It’s the last one you’ll see. Nepeta starts an antsy small talk with Sollux, nothing that stimulates you enough to join in. You get another message.

\--  arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [AG] \--!

AG: Hey are you close?   
CG: APPARENTLY. DO YOU LIVE IN SQUALOR AND DESTITUTE?   
AG: Don’t knock my digs!!!!!!!!   
AG: Just w8. You haven’t seen my hive yet. ;;;;)   
AG: 8ut anyway! I’m t8king that as you’re close 8y.   
AG: I’m still gonna 8e out when you get there.   
CG: OUT??? YOU NEVER SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE OUT.   
CG: WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? SIT OUTSIDE AND WAIT?   
AG: No no no no no no no no. You’re fine.   
AG: I already told one of my people you’re coming.   
AG: Actually, I think you’re already acq8nted! How funny is that?   
CG: HILARIOUS. I’M LAUGHING SO HARD I’M GOING TO SPEW CHUNKS OUT THE WINDOW.   
CG: OH WAIT, I HAVEN’T EATEN IN LIKE NINE HOURS.   
AG: We’ve got you covered. And I won’t 8e long. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.   
AG: Sound good?   
CG: SOUNDS BETTER THAN ANYTHING I’VE HEARD SINCE THIS EVENING.   
AG: Glad to 8e of service!!!!!!!!   


\--  arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [AG] \--!

“Know what? I think I might like Serket,” you remark.

Sollux scrunches his face. “Why the fuck would you willingly choose to do that?”

“She’s the only one who sounds like they know what they're talking about.”

“She sounds cool!” Nepeta chirps. “I’ve nefur met a pilot.”

“Yeah, Sollux,” you snicker, “she sounds cool.”

Sollux rolls his empty eyes. “Everybody out,” he says, putting the car in park in front of a three story building. “This is it.”

Vriska’s ‘hive’ is a tall and narrow structure planted right at the beginning of an empty pier. It’s devoid of any signs of life, aside from the lights in the windows of the bottom floor. The rest seem to be boarded up. Beside the door is a sign that threatens trespassers. Sollux steps up to the door, tall rotting wood, and knocks out a pattern. “FF told me they don’t answer unless you know their code,” he explains. A flap unnoticed before opens, two green colored eyes staring out.

“Business?” The eyes ask.

“Uh,” Sollux says with grace. “We have personal matters with Vriska Serket.”

“The Captain doesn’t take meetings.”

“She said she would let someone know we were on the guest list,” you add. “Can we at least come inside?”

“How many of you?” Eyes asks.

“Three,” Sollux says, leaning aside to give a better view of you and Nepeta.

The door groans open, a large and broad troll just beginning to enter adulthood standing behind it. “You can come in,” she says, “but we have to do a search first.”

“Fine, what the fuck ever,” you grouse, nudging Sollux out of the way. You have no weapons other than your specibus, Sollux has no need, and Nepeta hasn’t shown any signs of having anything on her— and if she does, soon that’s not going to be your problem.

Door troll lets you in, gestures for a pat down. Thick hands paw at your arms, then uncomfortably down your legs. “Open the sylladex.” You obey; all you have in your captchalogue is your husktop, and palmhusk, and your sicklekind lays in wait in your strife specibus. “Specibus stays here,” she says.

“What for?” You question, “I’m not gonna need it, right?”

“Exactly,” she replies. “Hand it over.”

You reluctantly take out your sickle, it clatters on the table. “There. Happy?”

The oliveblood says nothing but nods once, and moves onto Nepeta. Nepeta opens her arms as her fellow green probes her up and down. Next is Sollux, who looks as extremely awkward getting felt up by another troll that is ten times his muscle mass as he can. “You say someone should know you’re here?” She asks. The accent in her voice tells you Nepeta’s speech pattern is more common than you thought.

“That’s what I was told by your boss,” you respond.

“Ah,” says someone airily, “that would be me.”

Kanaya Maryam. Your flap hangs open by an inch. You haven’t seen Kanaya in a long time, probably not since your first reunion with Alternia. She’s taller now, jade-green filling her irises, a long neck carrying a face full of sharp bones, and all her stretching limbs are decorated in gold. She’s dressed in a simple black, long sleeved tunic with her color sewn along the hem. She smiles pleasantly, long fangs perched over cleanly painted lips.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You choke in slight disbelief, partly because of your recent gripes with her, and partly because someone of Kanaya’s status looks out of place in an establishment like this.

Her eyes drift slowly onto you, unphased. “I was under the assumption it was common knowledge I was an advisor for more than just our Heiress, praise be her name,” she says, the end of her sentence laced with mirth.

“Advisor?” Sollux asks, flailing his arms to shake the uncomfort out of his body. “For VK?”

“We have a history,” she answers, folding her hands in front of her. “If I was made aware of your estimated time of arrival before, well, your arrival, I would have been the one to answer the door. Save the trouble.” Her head turns to the olive troll. “No offense meant towards you, Kytick. We appreciate all your help.” The olive grunts in reply and folds her arms.

Sollux says, “What are we doing now? Until VK gets here?”

“I can take you to the common area on the lower floor,” Kanaya says and turns towards a hallway to the left. “You can gather yourselves there. Have a meal, take a rest. Who knows when she’ll be back, really.”

“Great,” you say. “Lovely. What is she even doing? Isn’t this way more important than basically anything?”

“No one tells Vriska Serket in what order her priorities should lie.” Kanaya begins to walk. It’s a smooth pace, almost as if she floats. “She goes out and collects documentation on all of our passengers,” she explains, “and passes it on to the Heiress. It helps wipe them from the system once they are moved to a safer place.”

“Safur place?” Nepeta asks, bouncing up to Kanaya.

Kanaya nods. “We have small communities all over the galaxy, all shielded and kept very safe.”

“Oh,” Nepeta says softly. “I’m Nepeta. Are jadebloods usually this tall? I thought Sollux was tall, but mew’re huge!”

You and Sollux lag behind. You make the mistake of looking around. A troll clutching a broken arm is already staring straight at you. The hall is lined with trolls, missing eyes, and tattered clothes. You divert your gaze. No one knows who you are, thankfully; you’ve managed to keep your face out of the mainstream with Feferi’s helpful mistreatment of your information. Sure, waltz in front of an esteemed lawbug and they’ll jump on you, but surrounded by nobodies, you fit right in. Your brain buzzes.

“It’s fucked,” Sollux observes. “All this. Never seen so many in one place.” You nod absently. 

Kanaya stops after leading down a wide staircase, waves into a dining hall. Long tables spread around the room, trolls sitting in pairs, trios, more than you’ve ever seen together willingly. “It’s a serve yourself type of arrangement,” she notes. “Help yourselves. I’ll be back to either take you to the Captain’s office or show you to the quarters. Whichever comes first.” 

Nepeta takes full advantage of the invitation, grabbing a plate and joining the line for food. You and Sollux find a table in the furthest corner.

“You’re not eating?” You ask.

“I’ll steal from NP.” He shrugs. “Can’t believe we made it without any major fuck ups.”

“Absolutely fucking floored,” you agree. “Now let’s see if we can carry our good luck streak. Hopefully too many stragglers in space.” You watch Nepeta eagerly glop something pale yellow onto the plate.

“Are you _still_ going on about that? She’s practically out of our hair already.”

“It is my part time job to be the gnat flying around your aural shells,” you reply, “always buzzing about your bad choices. It’s a lot, really. I should be full time.”

Sollux puts his elbows on the table and rests his face in his prongs. “Maybe I’ll think about promoting you since you’re so good at it.”

“Finally, some appreciation.”

Nepeta arrives at the table, her plate filled with as much as she could get, and sits next to Sollux; different meats and pastes and baked wheat product spill over the sides, still steaming hot. “I got enough fur us all, I think! As a thank mew,” she says and sets the dish on the table.

“Thanks, NP,” Sollux says, taking a fork out of the jumble of silverware she’s holding.

She shoves a large chunk of cluckbeast into her mouth. “My lusus always said I was a carnivore, you know,” she says between chews. “Mew’re eating, right?” The plate is pushed slightly more towards your side of the table, Nepeta looking at you expectantly.

“Not hungry,” you decline.

Nepeta squints and thins her flap. “That’s purretty liar-y of mew,” she says. “It doesn’t look like mew’ve had a good meal in perigrees.”

“He’s trying to reach maximum skeletal level,” Sollux says.

“Scared of losing your brand?” You ask, “the one personality trait you have?”

He smirks and leans back against his chair, hands behind his head. “You could never,” he says.

You poke some leafy bits onto a fork. “Shame.”

* * *

Kanaya comes back just to tell you that Vriska won’t be back for longer still. “I’ve tried to stay in constant contact with her, as is her assistant, but to no avail. She isn’t the most responsive while out on the job, I’m afraid.”

And so, you are taken to the respiteblocks. 

She leads out of the mess hall, and the three of you follow behind her like she’s your lusus, wide eyed and silent. The lower parts of the building, which you have come to realize are the ‘digs’ Vriska was telling you not to mock, are constructed from wood panel walls and support beams, the floor solid concrete. It’s surprisingly cozy for a refugee hotspot, but you get the feeling Vriska is not the type to just set her roots in any old building.

“Down this way, there should be some open spots for you,” Kanaya says, lifting her hand in the direction of a long corridor. “Empty blocks have signs on them indicating so. Just take the sign off and you shouldn’t be bothered.”

“How much longer do you think VK will be?” Sollux asks.

Kanaya gives a frivolous shrug. “We have gone beyond the point of me giving any proper guesses. I would offer my apologies on her behalf, but that would suggest she would give any to begin with.”

You yawn so hard you feel like your jaw is going to snap. “Cool, very cool. Thanks, Kanaya, can we go to sleep now?”

“Of course,” she says beneath a faint chuckle. With a wave, she turns and leaves.

Sollux tosses a lazy, “have a good one,” towards you and Nepeta, breaking away first and dipping into the first vacant block he gets his hands on. You follow suit, aiming to get a few feet further down the hall to, maybe, minimize any sounds from the outside you could hear.

“Karkat!” You hear from behind you. You don’t need to turn to know that Nepeta is trying to catch up with you, and you don’t slow your pace. “I wanted to talk to mew,” she says when she reaches your side.

“I didn’t know we had things to talk about,” you say casually.

“I just wanted to tell mew I’m sorry,” she continues, “about earlier. I don’t want mew to think I don’t take this seriously.”

You reach the door to a block marked with vacancy and turn the unlocked knob. “It’s fine, totally,” you say, dismissive, stepping into the room. “No hard feelings. Have a nice life.”

She catches the door you try to close with her hand. “I mean it,” she says firmly. 

You should take her hand away and just shut the door. You don’t need to listen to the excuses of this stranger your chauffeur picked up off the street. But you see the desperation in her eyes, wide and sincere, and you slowly open the door a bit more. 

“So do I,” you say. “It’s okay.”

“I think you’re a good purrson,” Nepeta says. “Mew saved my life back there.”

“That wasn’t me,” you correct, “that was Sollux. I’m the asshole, remember?”

She shakes her head. “Mew could have told him to leave me.”

You snort. “I tried.” You turn and walk into the block, which she takes as the ‘okay’ to follow, which you do not object to. “Sorry to disappoint, but helpfulness isn’t my first instinct.”

“I find that purretty hard to believe considering who mew are,” she says, almost breathlessly.

“I’m the poster-grub for whatever the hell this is, and that’s it,” you sigh, sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. “No one knows who I am besides the great-great who cares genetic spawn of a martyr.”

“I think mew can show you’re more than that, if mew really want to.”

“Thanks,” you reply halfheartedly. “Did you come in here just to stroke my ego?”

She breathes in heavily through her sniffer and fidgets with her claws. “I wanted to ask mew if I could come with,” she admits after an uncomfortably long pause. “On the ship? I don’t think it’s a furry good idea fur me to stay here.”

“Oh really?” You say through your teeth. There was no part of you that was joking when you repeatedly told everyone this would be the last you saw of Nepeta Leijon.

“My furend from earlier,” she says, joining you on the couch, “he’s my meowrail, actually. And he’s a really important ruffiannihilator. A colonel.”

“Fucking amazing. Congratulations, you’re set for life.”

“I’m worried he might find out where I am,” she stresses, “he’s an indigoblood, real big hemospectrum suppurrter.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And _you’re_ his moirail?”

Nepeta glances somewhere else, wilting. “I met him befur he found out how he was suppawsed to act. We were really young. He still cares about me, I know he does,” she says, “but I know if he found out I was in some secret hideout for cultists, he would purrobably tear this place apart.”

You stand at a crossroad, the opposing signs like headlights burning straight into your oculars. Leave her here, and she’s probably right— this whole operation will combust under the command of some highblood. Take her with, and she’s practically your responsibility for however long you’re on Serket’s ship, and who knows how long after. 

“Can’t he still track you even if you come with?” You ask.

“I figured the ship might have some sort of anti-tracking stuff,” she responds. “Harder to find if we’re off the grid.”

You empty your lungs and gaze down at your feet. You can feel her eyes cutting into you, waiting for an answer. You’ve convinced yourself you are not a good troll. To help is not your top priority.

“Okay,” your voice says against your will. “Fine. You can come.”

Nepeta’s face lights up. She smiles wide, throws her arms around you. “Thank mew!” She squeals, nuzzling into your shoulder. “I purromise mew won’t even know I’m there.”

You yank yourself away from her. “Fucking hell, Nepeta, I get it. I’m your saving grace and you are forever indebted to stay away from me. Can we do this without touching?”

She nods with a purpose and twangs a salute. “Anything you say, Mr. Vantas!” She rises to her feet. “Thank you,” she says. You don’t know whether she omitted the pun to sound more serious or not.

“Sure,” you manage.

Nepeta leaves, closing the door softly behind her. You rub your eyes. 

When Vriska said she was going to take care of you, she was right. This is a nice one-eighty from the cramped as shit rooms you’ve been sharing: spacious, sizable recuperacoon, and an ablutiontrap that is screaming your name.

You stand in it for what feels like an hour, letting the water run cold, to hot, and back to cold. In its heat, you could almost fall asleep on your feet. In the chill, you feel an emptiness in your pan that brings relief.

After dragging yourself out of the water, you dry down and throw your hoodie back on, leaving your pants somewhere on the ablutionblock floor, and practically dive into the recuperacoon. It’s at a lukewarm temperature, leveled for someone in the middle of the spectrum, which serves you just fine. You don’t have the energy to fuck with the dials anyway, you haven’t slept since before the motel incident.

Exhaustion snaps your eyes closed and fatigue keeps them there. Your pan starts to trail off in seconds, unable to finish a complete thought other than one:

You have the feeling this is going to be a long flight.

_“I drew a line in the sand with these worthless fucking hands  
I drew a line in the sand, you washed it away again.”_  
\- Troll The Wonder Years, _"Pyramids of Salt"_

**\-- END OF ACT ONE --  
==> ???: Prepare for liftoff.**


	4. INTERMISSION ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These shorter intermissions will be a way to segway into the next acts and to do a little bit of minor character building! I'd also like to say that I'm going to take a little bit of a break between this and the next act (even though I haven't even had a consistent update schedule lol. But maybe I'll come back with one when act two starts!)

_"Something wicked this way comes. And as I set to face it I'm unsure should I embrace it, should I run?"  
-  
_

**INTERMISSION**

A rapier is yanked from the chest of a troll coughing out the beginning of a death rattle. You slide a gloved hand across the blade to wipe it clean, rubbing the slick teal through your fingers, then wipe it against your coat in disgust. The rapier returns to its holster. “Over my dead body, huh?” You sigh to the body at your feet. Its hand twitches one last time.

You drop down to the body and shove it on its back. Underneath, soaked in cold blue and clenched in their arm, is a thick file folder. You pick it up and flip through the pages, and your pusher swells with excitement. That’s _definitely_ more than you thought you’d find, but leave it to the lawbugs to think they can handle everything on their own. It takes a very skilled troll to do that. Not naming any names.

The exit is the same way you came in: through the window. Your boots land heavily on the fire escape, and you head down the stairs and into the street.

You float through the darkness like a quackbeast on water. You slip out of view from any shitty wannabe soldier posted on your streets as quick as you please. These are, in fact, your streets. You run Faryest. You bet you run this half of Alternia.

Your name is **VRISKA SERKET** , and you could have been **SOMETHING TERRIBLE**.

It used to be “too many fires and not enough irons.” Life was boring. Life was same old, same old; you beat your kismesis’s ass at mostly everything, pillage and plunder, then gamble the loot for ten times the investment. You had so much time on your hands, it was ridiculous.

Then, Ms. Fussyfangs waltzed her elegant ass into your life with a proposition from the Heiress and a promise that you’ll never be a wanted troll again. And suddenly, you have irons out the chute and all the fires are nearly extinguished. The irons in question, lately, have been a surge of especially feisty midblooded revolutionists and lowblooded escapees who have to be transferred from one place to another for who knows why _this time_.

And what else does a respected descendant of the great Marquise Spinneret Mindfang do with a sweep of Imperial Fleet training? Turn the guns right on the schoolfeeders and pull the trigger. No mercy— this isn’t FLARP anymore, of course. This is the real deal, and you’re willing to guide your ships straight into the Fearmuda Triangle if need be. You’ve read and reread her journals a countless amount of times, so when you were recruited as a revolutionist, you considered it pure fate. You know what she stood for, who are you to question it?

You shuffle through darkened alleyways with that bloated folder tucked under your arm, the fabric of your clothes getting sticky with teal blood. Kanaya will be pissed. The things you’ll do to help some of these assholes. 

There stands your H.Q., a previously empty stemcluster now taken over completely by you and your cohorts, tucked in a section of the city no one has the globes to wander through willingly. It blends in perfectly with the rest of the surrounding stems. 

You knock on the door (a very specific pattern that makes up eight knocks) and the slot at the top opens, two green oculars staring back at you. You raise your glasses and let your smile travel up to your eyes. The multiple pupils swimming in your vision eightfold focus in. She opens the door immediately, gesturing you inside all apologetic. “Captain Serket.”

Tutting at her, you glide past and say, “no worries, can’t be too cautious these days!” all sing-songy. You blatantly ignore the beginning clamor of those waiting in your lobby, all trolls with equally sad sob stories thinking they deserve a special spot on Captain Serket’s grand boat to asylum. On your way to your office, you’re stopped by the one and only.

“Vriska,” Kanaya says evenly, though less than warmly. “You are extremely late. I have been trying to get in contact with you for the past two hours.”

You roll your eyes. “You think all this can be accomplished in a short amount of time?” You ask, shifting the thick file in your arm.

“It could.” She looks down at it, then notices the blood stains and frowns deeply. “I’m starting to think you sully the garments I spend tireless effort on tailoring on purpose, just to flaunt it in my face.”

When you first met Kanaya in the flesh after a few perigrees of online communication, of course her initial observation was how scrappy you presented yourself. She met you wild eyed and tangle haired.

“Nice to finally meet you in person, Maryam,” you had said, jutting out your hand. She tipped her chin up, stared at it with flat eyes, and then blinked slow. She’d said, “Kanaya. Are you aware of the gaping hole in your jacket?” But that was almost a sweep ago. The both of you had time to worry about the little things back then.

She’s like the lusus you never had, sometimes— but too overbearing on her off days to be pale, and you’d rather not think about it further than that. 

“Oh, you’re so very right,” you say amongst a thick layer of sarcasm, “I devote my life to annoying you. Is now a bad time to confess all my pitchest feelings for you?” _Wink_.

Kanaya raises a hand to her mouth. “You find yourself funny?”

“Extremely.” You smirk and stifle a laugh. “Are they here?”

She tucks a wiry curl behind her ear. “They are,” Kanaya answers. “They’re resting in the cabins downstairs. A very exhausted bunch. You should leave them be for a while.”

You nod. “As if I don’t have business to take care of myself first.” You stop at the door to your office. “Be a dear and have Elwurd gather up my usual personal crew, yeah?” You ask with sweetness.

Kanaya gives you a _come on_ type look— one you are all too familiar with from her, but mutters, “of course,” and gets to it.

You open your door with a wide swing. “Honey,” you chime, “I’m home!” The file is dropped onto your desk, and its weight makes a thick sound against the wood. A few loose papers fall rogue onto the ground.

He, your right hand, is right where you left him, sitting in his chair and buzzing on the phone, writing furiously. “Ah!” He startles, fumbling around with the phone pressed to his ear. “One second, please…” he mutters into it and places it on the desk. Beside him, his tiny lusus moves about. “Uh... hey, there’s a new development?” He says.

Tavros Nitram: a model of bronze strength with all the prowess of a hummingbeast. His broad shoulders and square jaw are nothing compared to the anxious look that has permanent residency in his eyes. A few pieces of metal decorate his face; a thick septum ring hangs from his nose and the lobes of his ears are stretched out by blue cuts of polished wood— a gift for surviving a sweep of being your matesprit. Caramel wings flutter behind him at hummingbeast speed. They’re shiny in the warm lamp light and slightly veiny. He’s handsome when he isn’t speaking.

“No ‘welcome back, babe! So glad you’re still alive?’” You pout. He stares blankly at you. Sighing, you ask, “what now, Pupa?”

Tavros looks sheepishly at Tinkerbull, who exhales in your direction. “I… uh, I mean where to start really—” he shuffles through notepad pages, all covered up front and back with messy handwriting. “About four of our drop offs said they want to close down for a while,” he recites, “I have the coordinates if you want to look. They said it’s getting too dangerous— apparently there’s been a lot of, ah, searches going on.”

“They think danger is a good excuse?” You ask, leaning against your desk and crossing your arms. “Do they know what line of work they chose? They’ll stay open if I say so.”

“I don’t think they’ll be very happy to hear that?”

“Do I look like I care?” You ask. “Who’s the boss around here? We don’t have time to care about other people’s feelings. The most we’ll do for them is hold off on this next batch for a bit.”

Tavros raises a finger. “A couple things wrong with that?”

“Spare me.”

“Some of these trolls don’t have the time to wait…” he insists. 

You say, “some of them are going to have to take what they can get and learn to be appreciative.”

“...and, we don’t have enough space to keep all the overflow. Word hasn’t gotten around yet, but the number of open cabins we have is, uh, dwindling. And with the Therapan thing going on…” He isn’t looking at you while he speaks; his eyes are fixed on the phone. “We have our backs against the, ah, wall, really, unfortunately.”

“Who’s that?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

His hand lingers next to it. “You’re probably not gonna like it,” he replies. You give him a stare that makes him gulp and turn bronze in the face. “It’s our main drop point. The one we were going to drop, uh, you-know-who at? He says his hive got flagged for suspicious activity a couple nights ago and we can’t use him for a long time.”

“How long?”

“He said that he could give us some other sources, but, uh they probably won’t be as reliable…”

“Tavros,” you say, stern, “how long?”

Your right hand’s wings shift uncomfortably against the back of his chair. “He said… probably… the next three or four perigrees. Just to be safe…”

“Ooooooooh my _Gods_!” You groan, digits massaging your temples. “Does this asshole know that the revolution is on a tight schedule— one that does not include his nookish cowardice?”

“I know, I know!” Tavros rubs the back of his neck. “But I don’t think I can be the one to tell him that…”

“Either fucking way, I have a full load of refugees waiting to be shipped off the freedom. There’s no putting a stop to this savior train, it’s already left the damn station.” You run a hand through your hair in thought. “The fucker is just gonna have to deal with it for now. I got two ships on course for his coordinates as we speak. And that, I’m sure, you can remind him about.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but admits defeat and picks the phone back up, stuttering out what you just said as verbatim as possible.

This is how your business goes: your word is law. It’s so law that it would make a lawtroll quiver. You call the shots, everyone answers to you, and Tavros hangs on tight for the ride. He finishes his conversation and hangs up the phone, looking less than satisfied. “He said, um, he’s going to take the two we already sent, but one at a time.”

“Reason?”

“Cargo ships look really weird when they come in, uh, flocks to one location? Especially at some random hive.”

“Fucking hell.” You tilt your head down and blow a strand of hair from your eyes. “So what are we gonna do, Pupa?”

“About…?”

Your hands fly upwards. “About the drop off! We’re about to turn the _Scourge_ into a cruise ship for a sacreligious celebrity, we can’t just be all like ‘hey, sorry, dude,’” you drop your voice an octave, “‘but we’re just gonna float around in space for a bit, hope that’s fine!’” 

“There’s not much else we can do,” he points, and you know he’s right. 

“And you’re throwing me to the howlbeasts to tell them?”

“I didn’t say anything like that?”

You shrug. “You’ve pulled my leg, Tav,” you say, “I’ll do it.” You slide yourself off the desk, going to the door and resting your hand around the knob. “How ever did you get so convincing?”

And you slip out of the room without hearing his reply.

Halfway down the hall from your office, you’re stopped by a troll with a half-shaved head, denim jacket, and your sign printed proudly on a band placed around her upper arm. “Captain,” she greets smoothly, falling into step with you.

“Elwurd,” you reply. “How’s everything looking? Should be just fine, am I right?”

“Something like that,” she answers, “the tech guys are telling me there’s some issues with the… tech.”

“Riveting,” you say. “And the tech guys are doing their job, yeah?”

“Keep trying to start it up, but something is stopping it.” She speaks with a leveled voice, void of any worry. You like that. You like a troll that can handle their shit with grace. 

Elwurd is a prodigy, really, and if you didn’t have Tavros, maybe she would have been made your second in command. You met her during training, when you were both naive and simple, and you got close. 

(Close is an understatement, though you’ve both moved on from that.)

She’s always had that spark in her that screamed with ambition. A drive to stand out, do something important. You asked her to come with you before you ditched the training ship.

“They said they need extra time to power up,” she continues.

“What does power up mean?” You inquire. “How much time?”

To which she shrugs. “They need a jump start or something,” she says. “Dunno, I’m not one of the tech guys. Ask Dahria if you want the full rundown.”

Consider your interest piqued. You stop on a footstep, and she passes a few paces more before she realizes. “A jump start, you say?” You smile, the flower of a plan blossoming in your pan. “Do me a favor: find Sollux Captor and tell him to meet me in my personal block, yeah?”

She nods, you part ways.

Your personal block brings a certain level of comfort to you. Sure, the whole building you’ve labeled as your ‘hive,’ but this is where the ‘home’ part really settles in for you. It’s on the lowest floor, away from all the business and stress. In the early-evenings, it’s completely quiet. Without you and with the door locked, only Tavros and Kanaya get in. Kanaya for emergencies, and Tavros because it’s his personal block as well.

When you enter, you shake your blood stained coat off your shoulders and let it drape over a hook on the back of the door. You turn the coffee machine on and fill two cups to be polite. There’s a table and three chairs by the small kitchenette that you settle into, back leaning against the wall, and wait.

There’s exactly two knocks on your door, and you know it's not Elwurd.

“Come on in,” you call, “left it open.”

On the other side is, like you suspected, Sollux, in all his glory. He has messily put his clothes back on, spots of sopor still drying on his neck. “You sent for me?”

“I did! Over here, sit. We should catch up.”

You need to ease him into a request like this. There’s no way even a goldblood you pay would willingly shock a whole ship back into life, let alone Captor. It’s a tall order. Still, you know he can do it, and you know he can do it fast.

“I made coffee.” You gesture to the cup opposite to you. “I remembered how much you like your caffeine.” You give him your brightest _see, we’re friends_ smile you can.

“ _Coffee_ ,” he snorts. “You’re so sophisticated.” 

“Hell yeah, I am. Sophisticated as fuck.” You sip. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” he says shortly, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “once we got out of Therapan.” 

Sollux sits across from you, but doesn’t touch the cup. He folds his arms instead and studies your face. The air is thick with tension.

You have good composure. You can keep a poker face like no other. But something about seeing him at your table puts a bad taste in the back of your mouth. You find yourself not staring at him, but staring at him. The idea of him, and the things he has no idea he knows about. You shift in your seat.

“I’m glad to hear it. Vantas is doing okay?”

“As good as he can be.”

“And the Therapan girl?”

“Sleeping, as far as I know.”

You bob your head back and forth slowly, gaze drifting to the side. Captor was never one for deep talks, and while you could carry a conversation in an empty room, he sure kills the vibe on arrival. “Feferi’s doing good?” You ask. 

He sets his jaw. “ED doing good?”

“Touche,” you say with a civil tone, folding your hands together on the table. “Alright, fuck it. Down to business. I called you here for a reason.”

“Well, duh,” he says flatly. “You really think I’m dumb enough to believe you just wanted to chat over some early-evening bitter bean fluid?”

You release a long breath. “We need some help if we’re ever going to get off the ground,” you start with. “Some help that we can only get from someone like—” you gesture widely to him, “you.”

“And that is…?”

“Have you ever powered a ship before?”

He chokes on the first sip he decided to take. “Great joke, VK,” he says, but he does not laugh.

“I wish I was joking,” you say, half-truthful. “Trust me, I know how much that shit must suck, but its the only way we’ll get out of here before like, a week passes.”

In an instant, his eyes begin to send flecks of static into the air. “No, I actually don’t think you _do_ know,” Sollux snarls. “I’m sure you’ve seen what it can do to a troll, but I doubt you could even _fathom_ what the _fuck_ it feels like.”

You hold your palms up in defense. “The _Scourge_ isn’t a big ship. She’s a merchant build— a squeakbeast in comparison to some of my other ships, really. It helps us be less conspicuous when I do personal shit. It would be nothing.”

“Not a chance. I’m not a fucking helmsman, VK. Have your crew take their time, we can wait.”

Uh oh, you definitely hit the wrong spot.

“That’s not what I even—” you break yourself off and inhale. Steadily, you say, “I’m going to be honest with you.” (“I sure fucking hope so,” he chides.) “We don’t _have_ much time. My first mate says we might have to float around in space for a while. The Therapan search is gonna come to Faryest before we know it. Sure, I can put the place on lockdown and make it look like no one’s even glanced at this place in a century, but do you really want to risk it? We need to get out of here, and the quicker the better.”

He swallows.

“I’m doing your matesprit a _huge_ one, Captor.”

“You’re doing your job,” he fires back. “You don’t have any other yellowbloods at your disposal?”

“None on your level. One tiny jolt, that’s all we need— it’s not like I’m hooking you up or anything. Then we can get you and Vantas out of here.”

“Fine,” he says, tripping over the word to spit it out. “Fine.”

You make a pleased hum, a bit taken aback in the best way possible. You estimated the time it would take to get him on board to be much longer, but this works just fine. “Perfect,” you chirp. “I’ll give you some time to prep.” 

The chair makes a sharp metallic sound as he quickly gets up, absently itching at his forehead. 

You almost let him leave before you say, “hey.” Sollux stops and angles his head toward you. “What got you?” You ask, curious, “to say yes like that?”

He hesitates, mulling over all the options for his answer. His response is, “none of your concern, _Captain_ ,” and he leaves.

* * *

An hour later, you put your jacket back on, bloodstains and all. You look yourself over in the ablutionblock mirror, fix your hair, adjust your glasses. The Scourge will be leaving Alternia soon, and probably for a long time, which it hasn’t in a while. Your crew will be antsy. You need to look like you run shit to remind them you do run shit. You got it so covered, it’s crazy.

You’re all packed as far as personal items go: a few changes of clothes, back up weapons, back up to those back up weapons, all the small things you can entertain yourself with when you’re not micromanaging. You’re checking everything over one more time when you realize you’re not the only one in the room again.

Tavros clears his throat. “Hey, ah, how’s it going?” He stands awkwardly in the doorway, trying his damndest to establish and maintain eye contact.

“Awesomely,” you say. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something— if you, uh, have the time to.”

You feel like you know where this is going. “Lay it on me.”

“Does he know? That I’m here?”

And there it is. You divert your gaze to the side, and suddenly the image of Sollux’s silhouette is burnt into your vision. When you swallow, your throat feels it’s coated with sealant. “No,” you admit. You could lie, but fuck, it’s all going to come together eventually. You’re not leaving without Tavros, and you certainly can’t go anywhere without Sollux.

“He’s going to ask questions,” Tavros says.

“I _know_ that.” You tighten a fist, digging your nails into your palm reflexively. “It’ll all be cool, Pupa. We just have to come up with something.”

He says, “I don’t think I want to lie to him,” and it comes out with a firmness that doesn’t sound like his voice. Tavros squares his shoulders and inhales deep through his nose. “He deserves to know. It’s been long enough. This all happened when we were, uh, way younger.”

“He’s not going to trust me if I let that happen. Do you think that’s a good thing right now?”

“It’s not right, Vriska,” Tavros argues. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to see me and _not_ ask about her. And if he starts asking questions like that I don’t know if, um, I can _not_ talk about her. And then what?”

You zip up your bag, a sharp and fluid motion. “I don’t care, Tavros,” you snap, tossing the strap over your shoulder. “Stay away from him then, if you can't control yourself.” You push past him and walk to a different spot of the room, no destination, just to put some distance between you and him. “She’s old news, anyway. Not much to talk about.”

You have good composure. A good poker face— which is why you turned your back on him. You press a fang into your bottom lip and study the wall.

“Aradia,” he says from behind you, “is never going to be old news. Not to me, and uh, definitely not to him.”

“This is literally the furthest thing from my top concern right now.” You growl, whirling around, narrowing your eyes. “I’ll solve this shit before it starts. You’re staying away from him, and that’s an order from your captain. Understand me? Am I speaking Alternian?”

You find yourself breathing faster, shallow.

Tavros gives you a look; defeat, but pity, and it’s pity _towards_ you. Tavros can read you better than anyone. You don’t know how, you don’t know when it started, but nothing can slide past him. “Yes,” he says after a heavy pause.

“Good,” you say through a tightened jaw. “Get your shit ready, I’m whipping this operation into high gear.”

-

_“And even if I can't be the one, maybe I could at least help make way for him until the day that he comes.  
Maybe my name could also be known - That I helped return good to the people and restored greatness to Rome.”_  
\- Troll The Buttress, _"Brutus"_

**END OF INTERMISSION**


End file.
